


Lemonade

by jentaro



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Extremely unsanitary, M/M, damar's degradation kink, damar's piss kink, i've also decided that cardassians have hemipenes so enjoy that, i've decided that the vorta have a weird cloaca situation going on too don't worry about it, seriously this is just piss i am so sorry, some sort of dubcon i guess but don't worry damar definitely wants it, there is no timeline for when this is i'm freeballing canon rn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-29 01:46:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30148866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jentaro/pseuds/jentaro
Summary: The sound of Damar working up to a hushed, humiliated moan is positively mellifluous to Weyoun’s ears; to see someone so deceptively proud reduced to a grimy little animal is exhilarating.
Relationships: Damar/Weyoun (Star Trek)
Kudos: 13





	Lemonade

**Author's Note:**

> i have terminal i love side characters disease and it's manifested into damar piss kink so like enjoy that or something :') not really edited i'm just kinda yeeting this into the void BYE

There is a moment when Weyoun stands in the doorway of Damar’s bedroom where he considers actually putting him out of his misery; it would be laughably easy, too. There are dozens of ways he could do it, really, each new thought more amusing than the last. The Founders would trust his decision, of course, so there would be no great loss suffered without a sufficient replacement strategy. It's a power that Weyoun could use to excise Damar at any time, but that would be _boring_. It is so _fun_ to play puppeteer to the vulgar little marionette he serves Weyoun as.

Clearing his throat, Weyoun looks around the sty that is Damar’s quarters on his ship, the stale smell of urine and the unfiltered rot of garbage hitting his nose. It’s no wonder, considering the half empty bottles of liquor scattered around on the nightstand and on the floor, some spilled, and trash scattered around. There’s an uncomfortable sounding squishing coming from where Damar shifts around in his misery, and the man in question groans. 

“Oh, don’t be so _dramatic_ Damar, you do this to yourself.” Avoiding a suspicious looking pile of … _something_ that Weyoun cannot help but cringing at, he stands at the side of his bed. “At least pretend that you have yourself together.”

“Leave me,” comes the garbled command from where Damar is laying half under the blanket, turned away from him as he is.

Weyoun gives him a couple of moments to marinate in silence before he much too loudly says, “I bet you’re wondering how good it would feel to be able to make me go away and leave you alone. You’re wondering what it’s like to hold even a _shred_ of power over me so you can pretend that you have even the tattered remains of shame, but Damar, you don’t have to lie to me.”

“I said _leave me_ , get _out_ ,” Damar growls back, finally looking at him with coals in his eyes at best. Lukewarm, cognizant of being caught. The blink of his nictitating membrane is just barely visible from the low light shining in from the hallway; with his Cardassian eyes no doubt able to see Weyoun rolling his own, that explains why he bares his teeth at him. 

Fixing him with sharp eyes instead, Weyoun ignores him. “You _forget_ that you answer to _me_ ,” giving a superior sounding huff, he continues, “And right now, you want me to think that you were depressed enough and inebriated to the point of being unable to get up and use the bathroom like a civilized person so that I may shame you. And that shame will spur you into cleaning yourself up so that nobody will know just how,” pausing to disgustedly look Damar up and down where he is laying, he continues, “… _repugnant_ you are.”

“ _You will leave me_ –”

Weyoun shuts his frankly raucous shouting down by clearly and aggravatedly enunciating over him, “Or you will do _what_ , Damar? You’ll kill me? We both know the consequences of that and you won’t risk it. No, you will sit there in your own filth—you will do _nothing_. No matter what I do or say to you, you will lay there and you will know that I am right.” Circling the bed, Weyoun turns his head up and looks down at him at a squint, unable to see him that well in the dark. Firmly, he says, “Computer, lights.”

A grunt is his only answer as the room is illuminated, Damar turning onto his side to hide away from the harsh lights. It is an unfortunate move for him to grab for the blanket to pull it over himself; he doesn’t get very far with Weyoun grabbing the end of it and pulling it out of his grip. 

“There is no need to be _modest_.” Tossing the blanket onto the floor, Weyoun turns around and closes the door to the hall finally so that his fragile-as-it-is authority is not undermined even further. “You _want_ someone to catch you and call you disgusting, don’t you? I think you do, or why else would you be laid here in a puddle of your own excretions for someone to find you?” 

Weyoun turns his head and looks at him, _really_ takes a look. There is a reason that the Founders entrust the Vorta to handle the minutia of the ongoing war efforts, it is why they are designed to be so calculating; there is little need for decorum in times where being candid is better suited to diplomatic affairs. This is one such fully clothed triviality, sitting in his own urine.

“And with anyone else, you would be embarrassed, and you would finally get out of bed and clean up. You’d get into the sonic shower, but it won't wash away how depraved you are.” The subtle sound of Damar’s breath hitching is what he imagines listening to music must feel like to non-Vorta. “That was _all_ conjecture, but I am right, aren't I?” Weyoun asks delightedly, coming around to the side Damar is facing and sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I told you to get _out_.” Keeping eye contact is a sad attempt at keeping his pride, but it is cute of Damar, he’ll give him that.

“No,” Weyoun starts, as if one would with a child, “you will either let me sit here, or I’ll open that door again and personally invite every person on this ship in here to take a _good_ look at you.”

“And what, charge them money for the spectacle?”

Smiling a tense-lipped smile, his lip curls just slightly as he looks down at Damar’s fully clothed self. “Nobody would pay money to see how worthless you are, no, there would be no charge. Just the gossip that will get back to every single Cardassian citizen, that their leader is such a deplorable man. That is how every single person in the empire would remember you, as the filthy little man you are. And you _hate_ that I am right, because you want to believe that is not the truth.”

While he speaks, Weyoun leans toward him, already having resigned himself to being filthy the moment he stepped over the threshold; there is no helping it now anyway, having soiled his clothes simply by sitting on the bed. Getting on his knees, he braces himself on one hand that so unfortunately gets placed in a damp patch on the sheets. Weyoun’s goal is pushing his other hand between Damar’s legs, fingers gripping into the still warm, sodden layers of fabric. “You are _offensive_. No wonder you always stink whenever I have to suffer being next to you if you lay around for hours in clothing you’ve pissed in, not even an industrial sanitizer can get that out.” Objectively that is false, because the sanitizers are perfectly capable of their job. Watching Damar squirm is worth it, conflict and confusion written on his face.

Weyoun chuckles as he lets go only to rub his palm between Damar’s legs, the heel catching on both of his just barely extended prUt. “It’s more than that,” he says, another delightedly incredulous laugh accompanying his accusations. “Being soiled gets you off, doesn’t it? Oh that is _filthy_.” Concentrating his groping there, Weyoun hums and says, “You want me to think it was involuntary, that you drank too much and couldn’t get up in time, don’t you? I think it was deliberate—I’m not surprised, you seem like the type.”

It is an indictment that lands with Damar shuddering, trying to hide his face behind his arm. And there it is, Damar hiding in his self-abasement for how foul he is.

“You have no spine, and that makes you just so _useful_ for me and for the Founders. Which is why it is a _big_ , big problem for me that you would let yourself wallow like this. Can’t you control yourself? Of course you can’t, Damar, that’s why you need me to help you.” Much the same as the Founders are the saviors of the whole quadrant, and maybe one day the universe itself, Weyoun is exasperated to find that he is forced to be Damar’s keeper if he is to keep the Cardassian people in line. 

How _exhausting_. 

Damar’s hips rock against Weyoun’s hand, and he can hear the Cardassian’s heart rate pick up considerably. “You’re not even going to say anything to try and defend yourself. _Pathetic_ , you are the leader of your government—what would your people say if they saw you right now? Getting hard because you pissed yourself and I caught you. Nobody would respect you.”

A mortified groan is his only answer, closed mouth and bitten off, but that doesn’t satisfy Weyoun even a little bit. Taking his hand from between Damar’s legs, he wipes it over his face, Weyoun’s fingers catching the ridges. He pushes Damar onto his back, swinging one of his legs over his thighs and sitting firmly on them despite his clothing already soaking up some of the mess. “I certainly don’t respect you,” Weyoun chuckles out, pulling Damar’s pants down far enough to expose him. 

“Your respect doesn’t mean shit to me,” Damar finally says, finding his voice again. There’s no chance of Weyoun taking him seriously though, not like this.

“You’re wrong, you don’t _want_ my respect, there’s a difference.” Pausing, Weyoun gives him a smug smile, daring him to correct him, but he doesn’t. “My respect has meaning as the Vorta representative for the Founders, but no no, you don’t _really_ want me to respect you because you want me to be repulsed by you instead,” Weyoun punctuates that with working up enough saliva to spit in the direction of Damar’s lower chuva. It’s unfortunate that he misses, but it turns out okay when Weyoun swipes his thumb through the mess and rubs at the sensitive skin, making him shudder again when he says, “You are _revolting_.”

The sound of Damar working up to a hushed, humiliated moan is positively mellifluous to Weyoun’s ears; to see someone so deceptively proud reduced to a grimy little animal is exhilarating. Both of his prUt are peeking out more now, so Weyoun, in an act of pure benevolence, pokes at them with bored fingers. “What _am_ I going to do with you, Damar? If you don’t want anyone finding out, then I suppose I must make you control yourself. What do you think?”

Damar is panting, embarrassed and uncomfortable, but his lips stay shut, not wanting to contribute to this discussion, clearly. Yet again, Weyoun will make this decision as Damar’s conservator. “I think I’ll keep your secret for now, and I’ll use you as you want to be used.”

Weyoun is so nearly done with making his point, but there is only one thing left to do, really. It’s not a tough feat to balance on a Cardassian mattress since it is almost quite literally made of rocks, but it _is_ a shame that Weyoun’s boots aren’t dirty since he is quite sure Damar would love the feel of grit on his sheets. Kneeling up, he ends up taking one shoe off and the pant leg with it—mostly so it’s not in the way, though it is too late for them to not be contaminated. The look on Damar’s face is _incredible_ once he realizes what Weyoun is doing, but he doesn’t stop him.

Positioning himself over Damar’s crotch, it takes a few moments before Weyoun is relieving himself in a stream from his ajan. Damar’s unrestrained moaning is surprisingly …pleasant, but the hand he puts on Weyoun’s thigh is _not_. Smacking his hand away, Weyoun closes his hand around Damar’s neck ridges, digging his fingernails into the sensitive scales. “Do not presume your position here, I didn’t say you could touch me,” he spits, tightening his hold. “You serve _me_ before you serve Cardassia, don’t forget that.”

Letting him go, Weyoun gets off the bed and puts himself together, knowing he won’t run into anyone on his way back to his quarters to clean up. Before he leaves, he takes another look at Damar, catching his eyes and narrowing them at him. “Clean this place up, you bring shame to the Dominion with your vulgarities.”

The moment the door closes, Weyoun can hear Damar jerking himself off; how unexpectedly adorable of him.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr @ [jennyloggins](https://jennyloggins.tumblr.com/) and on twitter at [slimejen](https://twitter.com/slimejen). feel free to come talk or say hi or yell at me or whatever!!!!!!!!!!!!!


End file.
